


USB

by sayasamax3



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 03:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3160193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayasamax3/pseuds/sayasamax3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima has a low battery problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	USB

“Sorry Tsukki, I’m going to visit Shimada-san today.  For extra practice.”

It almost doesn’t need saying, at this point.  Because Tsukishima knows what Yamaguchi looks like in the lead-up to that statement, knows the contrite glances and the nervous hand that Yamaguchi rubs against the back of his neck, until the ends of his hair stick up just a bit more than usual.  It’s not so different from his usual nervous habits, really, but Tsukishima knows what they mean when they’re directed at him.

Tsukishima shrugs.  “Alright,” he mutters, and pretends it doesn’t bother him.

—

It bothers him. 

It bothers him to realize he’s always thought of Yamaguchi’s time as  _his_ , in some way, in some shameful, awful way, and now he has  _less_  of it, or less of it is shared or—something. 

He knows he has no right to those hours, and so he won’t ask for them back. 

—

Walking home like this is strange.  The team usually splits up at the first intersection, but for that one stretch of asphalt between there and the school he feels—disjointed, somehow.  The third-years tend to talk among themselves, as do the second-years, and Hinata flits between both of those groups and Kageyama, who seems content to sip at his evening milk box and bicker lightly with Hinata whenever the smaller boy focuses his attention on him. 

Tsukishima thinks he could probably fit himself in somewhere.  A well-timed comment on an over-loud conversation, with maybe just a little sting (short jokes are low-hanging fruit, but effective), and he’d start something that might entertain him until they all split ways. 

It might even feel natural, or at the very least easy.  He gets the sense that the third-years would be relieved to see him be more sociable, and Ennoshita would probably clap him none-too-gently on the back, maybe give him a wry smile whenever he says something that the second-year has probably said too, at some point.

He doesn’t  _have_  to hang back, only he feels a little like an ipod without a usb cord—sure, it can connect wirelessly, but that won’t solve the low battery problem. 

Tsukishima has a low battery problem.

—

The first time Yamaguchi’s jump float serve succeeds is during a practice game with the team split against itself.  Shimada-san is there to see it, and he’s the person Yamaguchi _bounces_  right over to the first chance he gets, fidgeting and bashful and trying not to smile too wide (he fails). 

It occurs to Tsukishima, as he feels the corners of his mouth pull down, that he can’t remember the last time Yamaguchi came to him with a proud smile, hoping for praise. Not because it’s been a while, but because he hasn’t quite been paying attention enough to remember properly. 

He thinks, as loudly as he can, that if Yamaguchi came to him now, he would give Yamaguchi his fullest attention.

—

“No extra practice today?”  Tsukishima tries not to sound too pleased. 

“Nope!” Yamaguchi says, jogging a few steps to catch up with Tsukishima, “I can’t always bother Shimada-san, you know.  Why, did ya miss me Tsukki?”

Tsukishima’s brain jams worse than an old printer on the morning a major paper is due. 

“Kidding, kidding!” Yamaguchi says, without missing a beat, whether because he can’t imagine Tsukishima missing him, or can’t imagine him actually answering such a question, is uncertain.  He goes on then, he’s got a whole day to tell Tsukishima about, one somehow radically different from the day Tsukishima experienced, despite their being in the same class, same club, same space.

More and more he realizes he misses this, and even though it’s ridiculous, he’s begun to resent Shimada somewhat, in a nebulous, abstract sort of way.  Or not Shimada, but the _concept_  of Shimada, of a person who motivates Yamaguchi and can teach him things Tsukishima can’t, who Yamaguchi can show his pride to.

Which, Tsukishima has recently learned, is sort of a big deal to Yamaguchi.  

Tsukishima probably missed that fact during all those times he wasn’t paying enough attention.

—

“You’re turning into one of them, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima says without heat.  “Practicing yourself into a coma, like that overly-excited duo.”

Yamaguchi pulls the towel away from his face, moving it up to his sweat-damp hair instead.  For once, Tsukishima has decided to go with Yamaguchi to his practice with Shimada.  Just to see, just to be around, just because he doesn’t have anything better to do.  Probably.

(Homework can wait. They can do it together.)

The look Yamaguchi gives him is—oddly closed, Tsukishima can’t quite get a grip on what it means, which should be unusual but has been less so, recently.  Maybe they’ve spent too little time together lately, if Tsukishima’s losing his knack for reading Yamaguchi’s face.

“It’s not bad to be excited about getting better,” Yamaguchi says, his tone cautious and his brows drawn closer together. 

Then whatever scolding impulse had been rising up in him evaporates right off his face, and he’s fixing Tsukishima with his usual, sneaky little grin.  “Besides, I’m not the only one getting excited lately, am I?”

The words knock Tsukishima off balance, his legs suddenly forgetting how to stand properly, which wipes the smile off Yamaguchi’s face and replaces it with fret. 

“Tsukki!  Are you okay?  Did you hurt yourself at practice or something?” Yamaguchi gets just a little too close, like if he just fills up enough of Tsukishima’s space he’ll be able to sense the problem through his skin.

“I’m fine,” Tsukishima insists, putting out an arm to—not push Yamaguchi away, but to keep what distance there is between them.  “Let’s go home, Yamaguchi.”

—

Tsukishima sees when Yamaguchi’s eyes rise from their homework to meet his, but it doesn’t occur to him what that means until Yamaguchi gives a nervous little laugh and asks, “Uh, something on your mind, Tsukki?”

 Tsukishima frowns, and gives a terse, “No, why?”

It’s been a while since he’s seen Yamaguchi get so red so fast.  Tsukishima’s eyes follow, with avid interest, the motion of Yamaguchi’s fingers as they push a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Uh, because you’ve been staring.  Are staring.  Sometimes glaring?  It’s a little intimidating, eheh…”

“I’m—“ It’s true, he realizes before the denial can form on his tongue.  All the muscles around his eyes feel sore with tension, and it’s been hours but his homework is only half-done, while Yamaguchi’s on his last problem. 

Under the table, Tsukishima starts fidgeting with his fingers.  He’s not sure what’s going on with himself lately. 

“Aren’t you practicing too much?” Tsukishima says instead; he’s always been much better at talking about others than talking about himself. “You’re going to get hurt, if you don’t take breaks more often.”

Yamaguchi frowns, confused.  “You’re worried?  But Shimada-san is taking care of me, you know?  He makes sure I don’t overwork myself.”

“Shimada-san,” Tsukishima’s almost embarrassed at how unpleasant he makes the name sound—he doesn’t even dislike Shimada, not really, he’s just—ugh—“Shimada-san doesn’t know how hard you work at practice, he could  _easily_  miss something.”

“Seriously Tsukki, he knows what our practices are like, I’m fine, I’m being looked after—“

“Not well enough.  You’ve looked exhausted lately.”

“That’s—“ a total lie, they both know, Yamaguchi’s never looked better in Tsukishima’s estimation and surely he must know that, “That’s just how my face is, Tsukki.”

Or not, okay.  They’ll have to talk about that, later.  If Tsukishima can just get past how self-aware Yamaguchi’s made him lately, he’ll definitely bring it up.

“What’s this really about?” Yamaguchi asks, the corners of his mouth trembling delicately, and no, no, Tsukishima did not want this at all—“Do you dislike Shimada-san or something?  Or do you just really— _really_  think it’s pointless for me to try?”

The silver tongue Tsukishima’s so proud of shrivels to dust in his mouth and for a moment he can’t imagine what the right thing to say is.

 _I don’t dislike Shimada-san, just that he’s better for you to be around than I am_  is. No.  Definitely not.  Too revealing, probably, and even Yamaguchi would have to admit that’s pathetic of him to say. 

 _I don’t know if your hard work is pointless, but I don’t want to see the outcome if it is,_ is also definitely a no.  Too much room for misinterpretation.

“It’s not,” Tsukishima pulls his words back once more before relenting, “It’s not pointless.  It’s got nothing to do with volleyball at all, or Shimada-san, really.”

The troubled expression doesn’t budge from Yamaguchi’s face. Instead, it’s joined by a sigh and the defeated slump of his shoulders.  “Tsukki, do you hate me or something?  Just tell me what it is already!”

Tsukishima breathes in deep, knowing that he has to say something before this blows entirely out of proportion. 

“I’ll go with you,” he says at last.  “After practices, when you work on your float serve.”

Yamaguchi blinks at him.  “Why?  Do you want to practice more, too?”

Tsukishima scoffs, before realizing that’s  _probably_  not the best course of action right now, and tempers his response with a quiet, “No, thank you.”

He expects more needling, to be asked  _why,_  but Yamaguchi merely lets out a small, frustrated groan and lies back on the floor. 

Tsukishima takes it as a truce, and relaxes into the silence as best he can.

—

True to his word, Tsukishima starts going with Yamaguchi on the occasions he trains with Shimada.  It’s a little dull, he supposes, watching other people train, but he has his music, and he has his homework, and he has Yamaguchi to watch try and fail and try again until he succeeds. 

He seems to be succeeding a lot more these days.  When he does, he always looks to Shimada for approval first, before glancing over to Tsukishima, too quickly to make proper eye contact.  The set of his shoulders is determined, as he sets himself up for another serve. 

It’s when their practice has ended, and Yamaguchi’s scampered off to rinse the sweat off his face inside, that Shimada gives a too-big sigh, stretches his arms overhead far too dramatically, and takes a seat beside Tsukishima.

“So, Tsukishima-kun,” he says with an amiable smile, “Are you sure you don’t want to practice with us?”

Tsukishima shakes his head.  “No sir.”

“Really?” Shimada quirks an eyebrow, “You stare pretty intensely, for someone with no interest in what’s going on.”

Tsukishima ducks his head, and wills himself not to go red.  “I already practice extra with my brother’s team,” he says, a diversion if ever there was one, “Blocks.”

“I see,” Shimada trails off, looks beseechingly up at the stars, and then grimaces the way one does when they’ve resigned themselves to meddling.  “Well, you certainly seem like you want to be doing something badly, you know?  It’d do you good to figure out what that is.”

Tsukishima can’t look up from his own hands, wringing themselves in his lap. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

—

The next time this happens, Shimada opens with a very to-the-point, “Have I done something to offend you, Tsukishima-kun?”

Tsukishima looks from his ipod’s screen to Shimada, perplexed, and shakes his head.

“Are you sure?” Shimada persists, “Because you seem to be glaring at me an awful lot.  It’s a bit unnerving.”

Well, Tsukishima thinks, at least he doesn’t need to ask  _why_  Shimada thinks he’s upset with him.

“I’m not glaring at you,” Tsukishima says, shrugging.

“Then you’re glaring at Tadashi?”

Tsukishima scowls; not  _this_  conversation again.  “I’m not glaring at anyone.”

“You’re glaring,” Shimada insists.  His expression is kind, but brooks no argument. 

Tsukishima sighs, tries not to start wringing his hands again.

“…He always goes to you, when he does well,” Tsukishima admits, and wills his face not to burn. 

“Oh,” Shimada shifts his weight from one side to the other, “And you want him to go to you, right?”

Tsukishima freezes.  “I—“

“You should probably tell him that,” Shimada continues, “He thinks you’re angry at him.  Because of the glaring.”

“I’m not—“

“You  _are_ ,” Shimada says, “And you should just ask Tadashi if you want him to pay more attention to you; I don’t think he’d mind.”

—

The words jangle around in Tsukishima’s head the whole walk home, so loud and insistent that he can barely hear Yamaguchi over the way they reverberate around in his head. 

 _Ask_  for attention.  Ask for  _attention_? From Yamaguchi.  Ask for attention from Yamaguchi.

He wants Yamaguchi’s attention?

Well, he thinks, it is fairly obvious now, looking back on it.

He wants Yamaguchi’s attention.

“Tsukki, are you okay?”

“I want your attention.”

Yamaguchi stares at him, wide-eyed, then blinks slowly.  Tsukishima has no choice but to look away.

 _‘And_ now _I want to die.’_

“Well, um, you have it now?” Yamaguchi says, which is absolutely  _not_  what Tsukishima wants to hear right now, he does  _not_  want Yamaguchi’s attention when his brain is combusting from his own terrible, humiliating slip-up and his face feels hotter than fire.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi tries again, when Tsukishima fails to say anything, and the ground fails to swallow him whole.

Tsukishima shakes his head in response, keeping his eyes cast firmly on the ground.  His hands are clenching and unclenching over and over again in his pockets.  Tsukishima’s grateful they can’t be seen. 

“C’mon, what did you wanna tell me?” Yamaguchi asks, taking a few steps ahead of Tsukishima then turning, walking backward so he can look Tsukishima in the eye.

Or try to at any rate.  He doesn’t seem to realize that Tsukishima will  _die_  if they make eye contact right now.

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi calls again, his voice somewhere between worried and amused, “Tsukki? Tsukishima Keiiii?”

Reflexively, Tsukishima looks up when he hears his full name, and regrets it instantly.  Now, he’s looking at Yamaguchi, who’s looking back at him and whatever sort of pathetic mess his face is right now, probably dark red and contorted into something unpleasant. 

Whatever Yamaguchi sees, it stops him in his tracks.  Tsukishima stops too, only a step too late, and now they’re too close again.

“It, uh,” Yamaguchi stammers, ducking his head, “That feels like something I should be saying, you know?”

“I am,” Tsukishima says, too quickly, just in case Yamaguchi’s  _missed_  this fact, “Paying attention. I am.”

Probably to the point of being creepy, Tsukishima’s sure.  Though, apparently his paying attention looks a lot like his being angry, so maybe not creepy so much as scary.

“Oh,” Yamaguchi sighs the word out, before slumping forward, leaning his weight against Tsukishima’s front, his forehead pressed to Tsukishima’s shoulder and this is  _dangerous_ , Tsukishima’s got that hot combustion feeling still, like any minute something’s going to burst and Yamaguchi’s going to get caught up in it. 

But Yamaguchi lets out another little “Oh,” puts his hands over where Tsukishima’s are in his pockets, and somehow it’s enough to keeps him contained for all the terrible, bright seconds they stay connected.

—

This time, when Yamaguchi succeeds, he looks to Tsukishima with a smile, and Tsukishima makes sure to smile back.


End file.
